Author: poetryfest

malcontent melodies wisp away the evening
songbirds ease the dark awake as the sun protrudes it’s covers
fallen leaves come to rest upon the dew-covered grass
and the softness of the brisk breeze invites transformation

there’s heaviness in the morning
when evening slowly blends into dawn
and the moon has once again sunk back into its shadowed escape
the earth’s sighs knock the leaves to their knees

yet after every day

they’ll fall again
and they’ll fall again
and they’ll fall again

what beauty in the strength of the morning
what beauty in beginning again

I’m Icarus, grounded in Iraq.
A thousand talents are concealed within.
I can no longer soar in this sky,
The sun, now my adversary.

Take me to England,
Where the sun’s rays fail to reach.
Here, where I belong,
In a realm devoid of room
for love, life, and free thought.

United Ideas and the realm of the mind
Have informed me, they have come to a decision.
I must depart from Iraq, or they’ll leave me behind,
In the timeless expanse of thoughtless land.

The mind is a pomegranate,
Winter waits patiently,
Bursting with fresh and juicy talents
Too new to taste.

Stab me!
You see naught but talent.
Talents torn yearn to be set free,
Too unripe to brave the sun.

The time to decide nears,
With Virgin Ideas,
We will bravely face the sun,

And the journey to England.

It’s better to test the wings
Then bury them alive.
When I reach England,
I will take flight,
Even on solid ground.

My head is strange to my body,
As if it originated from another realm.
Internal experiences,
Beyond my experiences,
Defy explanation by any eloquent speaker.

Tingling is the common song of my vivid summer,
Countless icebergs raced through my head,
What’s this frozen signify?

Where is the entrance of the sky, to have a door?
I’ve held numerous Ayahs in my hands,
With a single puff, I blow them into the atmosphere,
I weave the prays and impart them in the ears of pain,
Yet the entire sky remains sealed!

My head resembles nothing but a confine.
Countless imaginations are stifled,
Desires are restrained,
Laughter, what’s laughter?
All are in-completed,
And laid down in a bin their knees bent.

I inhale agony,
I creep my head against the wall,
A gloomy portrait emerges,
Misery noble is mine!

Like snowballs, I’ll throw unlucky,
They come back to my memories, flock flock,
Is my mind magnetic,
Or are the days merely spring?

Even the firearms fear me,
Do the bullets understand?
The gunpowder knows that:
If my head explodes, suffering spreads out in the world.

My head is entwined with agony,
Even if we endeavor to articulate this agony in a sentence,
Comma’s power cannot separate us!

The radio transmits a melody,
Its lyrics muted within me,
The Song reads tear and
Crying flows out,
It’s Ashurah in my head!

I feel my head adds problems to the earth,
I am unwilling to frame all these agonies within the context of
existence,
Yet, from the recesses a whisper, a prayer, a voice,
Reaches my ears and I hear:
“Cheer up,”

————————

*Ashura: it’s a solemn day for Shia Muslims

Out of the shadows it glows
like a little piece of ethereal

rock on a seashore. It glitters
and flickers till it blinds me –

a snowman in spring warmth.

From the hollow of my fated
demise, I see this otherworldly

torch touch and topple my gloom,
lift and lighten my load as I take a

dramatic turn to divinity. The One
whom I’ve rejected all winter now

bears my fate in His loving hands.
If I didn’t know God’s love existed,

I breathe that air now.

Daddy taught me to love the way
he loves the bottle—
a terrifying, grotesque sort of love
that only Ligeia could know in such
eloquence. Daddy taught me to watch
the way they run. All-consuming, he calls
it, our love, obsessive and compulsive,
the same way he cherishes his bottle.

In the shadows of a broken home,
Where love once bloomed, now withers,
Echoes linger, haunting walls,
Silent screams, unheard whispers.

She wears bruises like a secret,
Her spirit, a fragile porcelain vase,
He wields anger like a blade,
Their love story, a twisted maze.

The clock ticks in sync with her heartbeat,
Each second a battle, a desperate plea,
Behind closed doors, she hides her tears,
A prisoner of love, yearning to be free.

His rage ignites like wildfire,
A tempest of fists, words that scar,
She tiptoes through minefields of despair,
Her dreams crushed, like fallen stars.

The children watch, wide-eyed witnesses,
Their innocence shattered, hearts aflame,
They learn that love can be a cage,
Where pain masquerades as passion’s name.

But hope flickers, a fragile ember,
She gathers strength, finds her voice,
In whispered defiance, she seeks refuge,
Breaking chains, making a choice.

For every bruise, a silent vow:
To rise, to heal, to reclaim her light,
To rewrite the script of her existence,
And banish darkness into the night.

If you look close enough,
at the palm of my left hand,
you’ll find a piece of pencil led,
sitting right below the surface.

I don’t remember exactly when it got there,
and I’ve been trying to figure out
exactly when it’ll fade.

Sometimes when I look at it,
I find myself mistaking it for you.

No one told me that losing you,
would surface in every corner of me,
that I’d find pieces of you in my own skin.

You are paper cuts in between
each and every one of my fingers,
I can still feel you
stinging me,
every time I reach for someone else’s hand.

You RSVP’d to all my milestones,
so now there’s an empty seat
in the front row of my life.
I find myself staring at it hoping,
you might just be running late.

Do you remember when we switched smiles?
You said you only needed yours
when you were with me.

Now I have your wisdom teeth and cavities
and smile lines made from laughing with,
someone else.

Lately, I’ve been finding your dreams
camouflaging as sunspots all over my skin.

I’ve tried to carve them out,
but ended up with scratches,
that look awfully like your handwriting.

They say your birthmarks
show where you were killed in your past life,
so I etched the sound of your laughter
into my palms,
hoping you’ll recognize it
the next time we meet.

If we ran towards each other
and collided in the middle,
would our scars line up like puzzle pieces,
until we are just one person,
when we hit the ground?

One day my kids will ask me,
How’d you get that scar?
and I,
I won’t remember anymore.

You are tan lines and seasonal freckles.
You are not as permanent,
as I once thought you were.

You will fade.

Meow
Will you take my hand?
Lead the way.
At your discretion.
Is where I remain.
May I walk beside you?
Help and provide strength.
Love and support you?
I’ll show you.
I mean what I say.
– Meowgical

Our souls are rather starmates
Scattered when the universe designed
Pressed beyond years, space, and time
Still, through this life,
And previous ones combined
They ventured back together
Your cosmic being and mine
Carrying imprints from prior collisions
Fitted and aligned
That’s why our love is boundless
Our fates are forever intertwined

love you. Three simple words that can either enrich or destroy a person. In a matter of seconds your life can change. It’s said by many but feared by others. I love you. Many overthink these three little words. But why? It expresses a vast number of emotions, some good, some bad. I love you. The words every person longs to hear. Whether it’s said in desperation or adoration. Three words. I love you.